


New Plans

by QueenoftheDarned



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Bickering, Gen, Human Outsider (Dishonored), Light Angst, Mom Billie, Post-Canon, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-05-21 05:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheDarned/pseuds/QueenoftheDarned
Summary: Billie didn't ask to be saddled with The Boy - but then, the universe just keeps finding new ways to laugh at her.Eager to put Karnaca and all its bad memories behind her, she procures a new ship and sets sail for... well, anywhere. But the Void is hungry, and just because some cages are invisible, doesn't mean they don't exist.





	1. 1

**New Plans**

* * *

 

The life of Billie Lurk had been filled with many a strange turn. First she’d been an urchin, then an assassin, a ship’s captain, and now she was saddled with a four-thousand-year-old former god in a teenager’s body. It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever done, but it came close.

She hadn’t exactly planned on taking in The Boy, but she wasn’t about to leave him to the mercy of the streets, either. Not after everything they had been through. Besides, it was nice to have someone else around now that Daud was gone. Not that she’d ever admit it.

At first The Boy could only go out after sundown, his eyes sensitive after centuries in the dark. He’d stood on Karnacan rooftops, taking in the lights of the city and the stars above it like a drowning man taking in air. He stayed out until the sun rose over the horizon, retreating back to their hideout when he could stand the light no more. He rested when sleep overcame him, and ate when Billie reminded him to. She’d never forget the expression on his face at his first taste of a Bastillian peach. Now he wandered the streets, drinking in the sights, sounds and smells of life as he went. Taking care to avoid the Abbey, he wove his way through the city, taking routes he’d seen through the eyes of countless generations.

For her part, Billie got straight back to work, taking contracts wherever she could. Karnaca was starting to feel like a jail cell, especially now the Month of Rain was fast approaching. She needed to get away again, to feel the roll of the waves beneath her feet.

Today had been a prosperous day. With coin jangling in her pockets, she'd bought food at the market, canned fruit and jellied eels, and a big round loaf of dark bread. Now she made her way back to her apartment near the docks, shielding the bread beneath her jacket from the rain that had rolled in from the south. As she drew nearer, a couple of dock workers hurried past, hands in their pockets, collars turned up against the cold.

"What kind of moron stands out in the middle of the street in this weather? And without a coat?" said one of them, a woman. Billie didn't break her stride, but a sliver of worry wormed its way into her belly. Were they talking about-?

"Poor lad, prob'ly touched by the Outsider," the other dock worker tapped the side of his forehead. Billie picked up her pace and rounded the corner - and stopped dead in her tracks.

The Boy stood in the middle of the street outside their apartment building, his face turned to the sky. He wore an expression of pure rapture. He was soaked from head to toe, rain running in rivulets down his face and into his shirt, but he didn't seem to care. When Billie strode over and cleared her throat loudly, he blinked and stirred as if coming out of a trance.

"Isn't it wonderful?" he said, his voice choked up. "I haven't felt the rain in... so long."

‘Wonderful’ wasn't quite the word Billie would have used. She bit back a growl of _“Outsider’s teeth” -_ she’d had to do that a lot, lately -  before thrusting the bread into The Boy's hands and maneuvering him out of the road.

"Come on, people are staring," she said, directing a one-eyed glare at a shop worker hovering in a doorway nearby. If people started asking too many questions, the Abbey might start sniffing around. That would go badly for both of them.

They let themselves into the apartment building and climbed the stairs up to the third floor. Billie had been lucky enough to find a room to rent from a landlord who knew how to mind his own business. It was cheap for a reason, converted out of an old warehouse, with a leaky roof and paper thin walls. They had a cot each, a small table and a wooden trunk with the few belongings they had. It wasn’t much to look at, but Billie had lived in worse. So had The Boy.

Billie shut the door behind them and set her basket down on the low table in the middle of the room. The Boy was dripping everywhere, and starting to shiver, but his eyes were still lit up with happiness.

"Go light the fire and dry off those wet clothes,” Billie told him. "I didn't risk my neck to save your life only for you to catch your death."

As The Boy tossed some scrap wood into the fireplace, Billie thought she saw a hint of a smile on his face. She turned away to lay out the food she'd bought. Why did the incorrigible little shit listen to her _now?_ And why did she sound more like Daud every day? 

 _I'm not his mother,_ she reminded herself. _I didn't ask to be saddled with him._

When she heard the fire crackling in the grate and The Boy slipping into some dry clothes, she finally straightened up. He was still buttoning his shirt, and she looked away quickly at the sight of his ribs. He'd been thin - too thin - when he'd been thrown into the Void. She knew how it felt to be that hungry.

 _Not his mother,_ she reminded herself again, more forcefully. 

"Come and eat," she said, pulling her cot closer to the fire and sitting down. "I've got some news."

Her culinary skills might have been sorely lacking, but Billie had never much cared for fancy food anyway. At least she could keep their bellies full, and since The Boy would probably eat nothing but peaches if she let him, he had no reason to complain. 

“I’ve enough coin for a vessel,” she said as they ate. “Today was a good haul.” The Boy knew she wasn’t talking about fishing, but anyone eavesdropping through the walls would be none the wiser. His gaze dropped to the dusty floorboards.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, but the silence that hung between them was full of meaning. Billie could have laughed at the absurdity of it all - the Outsider, afraid of being left alone? She’d heard him having nightmares though, heard him cry out in his sleep. So she bit her tongue.

“You can come with me if you want. The world’s a big place. A boat’s as good a way as any to see it all.” He looked up at her then, eyes shining with gratitude, and Billie had to look away. She savagely speared a hunk of eel on her fork. “You’re not getting a free ride though. You still owe me for the arm.” she caught his gaze with her good eye. “And more besides.”

There was a long pause, and The Boy got up and went over to the narrow window, looking out onto the rain-soaked street below.

“If I could change things…” he began, but Billie just shrugged.

“What’s done is done.” In truth, her feelings on the matter were far more complicated, but what was the point in dwelling on it? At least The Boy could help her run the ship. That was a start.

“Where will we go?” he wondered aloud, his mind already fixed on the journey ahead. And why not? He wasn’t anchored to any place like Billie was. As much as she fought the ties pulling her back to Dunwall, she knew she would end up there again eventually. She always did. She shrugged, trying not to seem resentful.

“Where do _you_ want to go?” she asked. She could put off the inevitable for a while, at least. The Boy only hesitated a moment before he turned back to her, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smile. It was an expression he’d seemed unfamiliar with at first, but was slowly coming more naturally to him.

“ _Everywhere,_ ” he said.


	2. 2

Billie’s new vessel wasn’t a patch on the _Dreadful Wale._ That had taken her far longer to save up for, back when she’d still harboured idle dreams of becoming an honest trader. The _Knife of Dunwall_ was sleeker but cramped inside, but at least its engine was newer and in better repair than the _Wale_ ’s had been. The vessel’s initials were painted in the particular shade of crimson Daud had been so fond of. Billie wasn’t stupid enough to paint the full name (and moniker of Dunwall’s most infamous assassin) on its hull, but it pleased her to honour him in some way. If anyone asked her what the initials stood for, she could always tell them “ _The Knickers of Delilah”._ Or punch them in the jaw, whichever she felt like at the time.

She had more pressing concerns right now, though. The _Knife_ was moored at the disused jetty where she’d given Daud his send-off, and where she’d arranged to meet The Boy before they set off. There was no sign of him.

Billie ran her good hand through her close-cropped hair and grit her teeth. _In annoyance,_ she told herself, though there was a trickle of worry there too. What if someone from the Abbey had somehow recognized him and hauled him in? What if one of those rat-fucker cultists had somehow trailed them back to Karnaca? Billie was about to abandon the ship and hurry back into town to search for him when she saw The Boy’s slim figure emerge from the crumbling tide walls. He began to pick his way across the ruined jetty towards her.

“Where the hell were you?” She demanded as soon as he reached the boat ramp. The words came out more harshly than she meant them to, but The Boy gave no sign that he’d noticed. Instead he looked up at the ship as he climbed the ramp, taking it all in.

“Fitting for a two-man crew,” he remarked. “Your friend Sokolov would approve."

“Hey, don’t change the subject. What happened?”

“I was… detained in the marketplace.” Billie’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“What were you thinking?” she snapped. “You could have brought the entire Abbey down on our heads. You better not have been recognized.” The Boy’s eyebrow quirked.

“I’m surprised, Billie Lurk,” he said, in a way that made Billie’s gut fizz with anger.  “Have you forgotten how you used to worry Dau-" He cut off abruptly as she slapped him hard across the face, a month’s worth of pent-up grief and resentment finally cracking the dam she’d built for herself. Gripping him by the neck, she slammed him against the wall of the cabin.

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about Daud,” she snarled at him, “Not here. Not on this ship. Don’t you _dare_.” The Boy’s eyes went wide with shock at her sudden outburst, his fingers struggling to prise her hands away. It was the first time Billie had seen anything resembling fear on that face, and it bridled her anger. When she let him go, he doubled over, gasping for air.

“Billie,” he gasped, “I’m… sorry-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Billie turned and stormed up the stairs to the ship’s bridge. “Stay out of my way,” she added, a threat implicit in her voice. The door to the bridge slammed shut behind her.


	3. 3

The Boy had been truthful about his foray into the marketplace, at least. He’d wanted to take it all in before he left, this time from the street rather than the rooftops. Keeping an eye out for any Eyeless - or worse, Overseers - that might be roaming around, he slipped into the crowd and did his best to blend in.

It wasn’t difficult. The people of Karnaca were too fixated on getting to where they were going and swapping too much coin for market goods to care about a skinny fifteen-year-old winding his way through the tangle of bodies.

He passed one of the City Watch, squatting by the side of the road and playing dice with a dock worker. The watchman’s piggy eyes were narrowed, but the swarthier of the two was grinning. The watchman’s cry of _“Outsider’s balls!”_ as the dock worker relieved him of his purse reached The Boy’s ears through the noise of the crowd. He let out a quiet snort. For all Billie’s paranoia, these people really had no idea of anything that went on outside their own tiny lives. The world could be consumed by the void tomorrow and they’d still be fretting over a handful of coppers.

Even so, when the murmur of “Overseers” went through the marketplace and the crowds parted, squeezing onto either side of the narrow street, The Boy followed suit. He carefully positioned himself behind a heavyset man as the grey and white vestments of two Overseers came into view. People glanced away as they approached, keeping their gaze downcast. Since the raid at the Royal Conservatory, the Abbey had come out in force on Karnaca’s streets, determined to root out every last source of ‘witchcraft’ they could find.

One of the Overseers was carrying a music box, and The Boy suppressed a shudder. He’d seen what the music could do to those who bore his mark. He didn’t know what it would do to _him,_ but he certainly didn’t care to get close enough to find out.

The Overseers passed, and the crowd went back to their business of cheating one another. The Boy slipped away down a narrow side-street, in the opposite direction the Overseers had taken. Better to take an indirect route to Billie’s rendezvous point than risk running into them. Once he had put a safe distance between himself and the market, he stopped to assess his situation and work out the best route to take. His mind was so fixed on the problem of finding his way to Billie that he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone.

“I know you,” said a little voice from behind him. He turned to find a girl sitting on the steps of a nearby building. She was grubby and her clothes were tattered. She couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. “I saw you in a dream once.”

She didn’t look frightened - rather, when The Boy knelt down and brought his face level with hers, he saw something in her eyes, hard but hopeful. It was a look he recognized; four thousand years ago, he’d looked up at a stranger the same way. That had ended with a knife against his throat and an eternity in the void.

“You did?” he said, gently. There had been so many dreamers, all longing to hold counsel with him. Back then, he would have been able to remember them all. Now, each blurred into the next. “What did I say, in your dream?”

“You said that I was special. That one day-” her voice dropped to a whisper, “-I might fight the Overseers.”

A memory rose, unbidden, from the back of The Boy’s mind. A child clutching a white rat. Guards with heavy boots and heavy fists. The same child, first exultant, then screaming in terror, then silent. Slick blood pooling on stone. The Boy swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Linnel.”

“Well, Linnel, I’d like for you to listen to me carefully, just like you did in your dream. Can you do that for me?” The girl nodded. “There’s more than one way to fight, and there’s more to it than being strong, do you understand?” Linnel hesitated, doubt filling her gaze. “You have to be clever,” The Boy continued, trying his best to make her grasp the importance of what he was telling her. She gazed up at him with wide eyes and nodded, but the ghost of a frown was already tugging at her features. She got to her feet and dusted off her patched trousers.

“You’re different than you were in my dream,” she said softly, before turning and running up the steps into the building, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Yes,” said The Boy, turning away and carrying on down the narrow side-street with an unfamiliar feeling squeezing at his insides. Regret, he supposed. “I suppose I am.

He didn’t know what path he’d set the girl on - had no way of knowing, not anymore. For better or worse, Linnel’s fate would be entirely of her own making.


	4. Chapter 4

The Boy, it turned out, didn’t have anything remotely resembling sea legs. Spending the last four millennia encased in rock probably didn’t help. Billie watched through the foam-spattered window as he struggled up the metal stairs to _The Knife of Dunwall’s_ bridge. When he flung open the door the little cabin filled with the sound of the wind and the ocean. Then it slammed shut, and just as quickly the noise abated, the bridge cut off from the outside world once more.

The Boy’s hair was windswept, his face reddened by the cold and the biting wind. Billie gave him a glance over - they’d hardly spoken since they left Karnaca. She still felt raw over their fight, and The Boy... well, who knew what went on in his head? Still, for him to brave the slippery steps in weather like this meant he had something to say. She leaned against the ship’s controls, arms folded, and waited.

“There’s a storm head forming to the Northeast,” he told her, wiping salt water from his face.

“I’ve seen them,” Billie said shortly. She peered through the window, where yellowy-green clouds were amassing beyond the spiny islands that stretched away from the mainland of Serkonos. The islands would shelter them from the worst of the storm - a little, anyway. The Boy’s gaze flicked from the window, then back to Billie, and she sighed.  
“There’s nothing we can do about it. Stay in your cabin and you’ll be fine.”

“You’d face the storm on your own?”

“I’ve sailed through worse.” Billie couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyance. The Boy _knew_ that; he’d been watching her for years, hadn’t he?   
“Look, I don’t need you getting under my feet,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the door. The Boy looked as if he were about to say something, then, thinking better of it, nodded curtly and made as if to leave.  Billie swore under her breath.  
“Hold on a moment,” she said, and he stole a glance over his shoulder.

“Billie…”

“I’m not going to pretend I’ll ever understand why you did the things you did.” Billie flexed her hand, the blackened, Void-twisted one she tried not to look at, even now. “I don’t think one lifetime is long enough to figure it out, and frankly, I’ve got better things to do.”

“There are things I… regret,” said The Boy, sounding very much as if the concept were foreign to him. “And there are a lot of things I don’t.”

“Yeah, I figured.” What had Billie been expecting? For him to throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness? That was hardly likely. Besides, she probably would have tossed him down the stairs. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the controls, easing _The Knife of Dunwall_ closer to the shore. A gust of wind whistled through a chink in the door, and the ship rocked as a particularly rough wave caught the bow. 

“Fine,” she said, pretending not to notice the way The Boy clung to the door handle for support. “You want to help? You can start by securing anything you can find that isn’t already strapped down. The less mess we have to clean up tomorrow, the better.” Another wave hit the bow, sending The Boy backwards into the door with a thump.

“If I don’t break my neck first,” he complained.

“Be thankful you’re not puking your guts out over the side.” Ever the font of sympathy, Billie raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the door. Sensing he was being dismissed, The Boy did his best to gather the last shreds of his dignity. The bridge filled with the roar of the growing storm as he opened the door and stepped outside, before that, too, died away, leaving Billie chuckling darkly in the quiet that followed.

* * *

Belowdecks The Boy was somewhat steadier on his feet, if only because he could brace his hands on each wall of the narrow gangway. He lingered in doorways, scrutinizing each cabin, but there wasn’t much aboard _The Knife of Dunwall_ that wasn’t secured already. The pair didn’t have many possessions, and Billie was meticulous about keeping the vessel spotless in a way that, frankly, she never had on _The Dreadful Wale._

Still, at least she was talking to him again, even if the task she’d given him was pointless busywork. He didn’t mind that as much as he’d thought he would - despite all the centuries among dreaming sailors, he didn’t know the first thing about working aboard a ship. Besides, anything was better than the silent treatment Billie had been giving him since his thoughtless words in Karnaca.

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear the runesong at first, or at least, he didn’t recognise it for what it was until he was almost on top of it. He gave a start as he realised he was in Billie’s cabin. He’d stayed away from it until now - not because it was private; he’d spent millennia watching people when they thought they were alone - but because it was _Billie’s_ . For the first time in his long life, he felt as though he were trespassing. It made him feel as though he’d sullied himself, somehow.   
  
But there it was; the object that had drawn him in. It lay on a little pull-out desk chained to the wall, its song filling his ears. Its twisted beauty reminded him of the Whales. He’d seen the effect Runes had on people, but never _understood_ it. He drew closer and reached out to trace the rune’s carved surface with his fingertip, but as soon as his skin met its ridged surface, a deep, hollow cold spread through him. He gasped and blinked, trying to pull away as his vision swam, but when he opened his eyes again, the cabin was gone. In its place was darkness; terrible, but _familiar._

It was like he'd never left.

* * *

An hour went by, and The Boy had not returned. Billie’s hands at the controls grew impatient as the sea turned even rougher, until she finally had to admit that he should have finished his task by now. She wasn’t _worried,_ mind, but if he’d managed to take a tumble down the stairs, no amount of waiting was going to help him. 

She checked their course and slowed the engines to a crawl before buttoning up her jacket and venturing out, bracing herself against the salty wind and the slippery steps. 

She found The Boy in her cabin, staring off into space and cradling the Runestone she’d taken from Daud’s body in his hand.   
“Boy!” she said, masking her relief with a scowl. He made no reply, no indication he’d heard her. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and grabbed his shoulder. 

She realised something was wrong when he gave a violent shudder, gasping like a drowning man as he tore himself away from the rune and staggered backwards into her arms. She steadied him and sat him down on her cot, where he sagged against the wall of the cabin. His face was grey, but Billie drew back with a gasp when she saw his eyes. They were black - black as the Void.

Outsider’s eyes.

“Hey!” She patted his cheek sharply, but his head lolled to the side. Billie shook him, and to her relief he heaved a few shuddering breaths, his eyes returning to their usual steely grey. “What in the Void was _that?”_

“I was there,” he said weakly, rubbing his eyes as if waking from slumber. “Back in the Void.” He looked around him, wrapping his arms around himself as if he didn’t trust his surroundings. “When I touched the rune...”

“I should have thrown that thing overboard weeks ago,” said Billie, shaking her head. “I only kept it because it belonged to Daud.”

“I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like it was calling to me.” The Boy’s brows knit together, his eyes traveling back to the rune, still sitting on the desk. “The _Void_ was calling to me.” Not for the first time, Billie could see him as he must have been before his name had been stripped from him. Lost. Scared.

“You don’t have to go back there,” she said, wishing she felt as confident about that as she sounded. What did _she_ know, anyway?

“I know. It’s just…” The Boy let his head fall back against the cabin wall. “I thought I was free.”

“We all have our cages. Some are more visible than others.” His eyes kept going back to the rune, no matter how many times he dragged his gaze away. Billie crossed the cabin in two steps and picked it up, weighing it in her hand. “Wait there,” she told him, then turned on her heel and made her way up to the deck. 

She lingered at the guardrail, the spray coating her lips with salt. The rune sat heavy in the palm of her hand. She could feel the hum of its power through her glove. She gave it one last, long look before drawing back her arm and hefting it over the side. For a moment it was an ivory speck beneath the roiling waves, and then it was gone. In time it might wash up in Karnaca, or perhaps more distant shores. Billie found she didn’t care either way. She returned to The Boy, who eyed her warily when she came in, searching her face for any hint of anger. 

“It’s gone.”

“I know. I can’t hear it anymore.” He looked away. “I’m… sorry.”

“Oh, please.” Billie pulled out the heavy trunk at the foot of her cot and sat down with a shrug. “I put up with you as a ghost in my head. I can put up with this, too. Just don’t go grabbing any more runes you find. I can’t believe I have to tell _you_ that, of all people.” She planted herself more firmly against the planks at her feet as she ship lurched.  
“Go on,” she said, nodding to the door. “Get some rest. When the storm hits proper I’m going to need you on your feet, and ready to jump to it when I tell you.”

“Yes, _Captain,”_ he replied. Despite herself, Billie was glad to hear the little shit had come back to himself, mostly.

"That’s right. Respect your elders, _Boy_."

"I'm four thousand years old, Billie Lurk," The Boy reminded her. Billie just bared her teeth in a feral smile.

“And yet fresh as a daisy. If you don’t want to end up falling overboard, you’ll do as I say. Or maybe when we reach Dunwall I’ll drop you on the Lord Protector’s doorstep and leave you there.” 

“Corvo treats me with a little respect, at least.”

“Mmm, you think he’ll be happy to see you? Or will he toss you into the Coldridge canal?” Billie rubbed her chin with her good hand. “I know which one I’d put my money on.”

With that, The Boy retreated to his cabin while Billie went topside to check on the storm’s progress. The easternmost island was wreathed in thick rain now, and there was a heaviness to the air that even the wind couldn’t shift. She gripped the guardrail with both hands, feeling leather and sinew flex just outside of her field of view.   
Perhaps one day she’d be able to look at her arm and accept that, like so many things in her life, it had been taken from her by the strange, frail boy sleeping below deck. Not yet, though. Not today.


	5. Chapter 5

“Have you thought about choosing a name?” 

They were taking their evening meal and sharing a pitcher of cheap wine at _La Rosa Marchita_ , a tavern in Cullero. It was tucked away on the shabbier side of the city, shunned by the tourists as the sailors who frequented the place showed little love for _extranjeros._

They had been two weeks at sea, sailing the islands on the eastern tip of Serkonos. During that time they’d survived summer storms and avoided the razor-sharp, rocky shallows that made sailing to and from the islands perilous. Once, far-off, they’d even spotted the hump of a Whale, which they’d mistaken at first for a far-off island.  
  
To his surprise, The Boy was sorry to leave the sailing life behind while they resupplied, although his legs were better suited for dry land. Cullero was a city of cigars, spice and grapes, different enough from Karnaca to make him both wary and eager to explore.  
Now he stared at Billie like she’d leapt onto the table and started belting _Sands of Serkonos_ at the top of her lungs.

“A name,” Billie repeated impatiently. “You don’t expect everyone to call you “Boy” forever, do you?”

“You do,” The Boy pointed out.

“I’m surprised you haven’t picked one already. You could reinvent yourself.”

“Like you, _Meagan_?” That earned The Boy a one-eyed glare, and he dropped his gaze to the table. He was forgetting himself again. He had once thought nothing of taunting people, desperate and dangerous, who could never lay a finger on him while they were in his domain. How easily all those little cruelties had come to him then. How easily they slipped from his lips now.

“I’ve been called many things," he said, pushing those thoughts aside. "A monster, a god - in Cullero they called me _El Forastero_ \- _The Stranger_." Billie tensed and stole a glance over her shoulder - most of the other sailors in _La Rosa_ were deep in their cups or only spoke Culleran _._ That didn't mean there was no one listening. The Boy's lips flattened as he leaned back in his seat, twirling the stem of his glass between his lean fingers.

“You can call me what you will,” he said softly. "There is only one name that carries any meaning for me, and it's lost to me forever."

They lapsed into silence after that, letting bitter cigar smoke and the hush of twenty whispered conversations wash over them. In the end it was a stranger who broke it, scraping a chair over the sawdust-covered floorboards and plonking himself down at their table without waiting for an invitation.

"I heard a certain one-eyed _capitan_ just made port." He was tanned and leathery like a Serkonan sailor, but his accent would have been at home in the alleys of Dunwall. "Long time no see, Meagan."  
Billie didn’t comment on the use of the name, but The Boy made a note of it. Billie used names like currency.

"That was by design. I thought I left you nursing a cracked skull in Karnaca years ago."

"Love what you've done with your, uh-" Billie dug her nails into the scratched surface of the table, and the stranger seemed to reconsider finishing his sentence. Instead he peered across the table at The Boy, eyebrows drawing together in a dark line. "Hey, I know you…"

Billie flashed The Boy a warning look. If the stranger noticed, he didn't show it.

"Have we met somewhere?" he prodded.

"I would remember if we had," said The Boy icily. Something about the way the stranger was looking at him made him uneasy. The witch Delilah had once looked at him the same way. 

"What are you doing here, Hernán?" Billie cut in. 

"I run a little, ah, _establishment_ in _El Montón,_ now _._ " Hernán was speaking of the haphazard jumble of buildings that made up the city's innermost district. It cast a pall over the surrounding districts. They had seen the detritus swept downriver when they made port.

"I don't want to know what seedy business you're into." There was a glint of silver as Hernán bared his teeth in something approximating a smile. 

"You sure? Only I've got a job with your name on it." His expression changed, then - became more of a leer. "Or don't you want the lad to know how you used to get up to your elbows in filth for money?" 

"Spit it out," growled Billie, "if you've got something worth my time. Otherwise, hit the road."

"The Overseers and I have an understanding. I’m generous with my tithes, and they keep their preaching away from my _Casa de Flores -_ it’s bad for business, see? I scratch their balls, they scratch mine.”

“And this interests me how?”

“Lately they haven’t been honouring their end of the agreement. They've been harassing my guests… and my _flores_. I need someone to remind them of our agreement." Billie sipped her wine as she mulled this over. 

"I'm not going to make myself a fugitive on your account." Not to be deterred, Hernán forged onward.

"That's the beauty of it. I know you - you're never content to sit on your heels. In a few days you'll be on your way to Outsider knows where. Untouchable." There was an uncomfortable silence, filled with cigar smoke and throaty, hacking laughter from the other side of the tavern. The Boy looked on with interest - unlike Hernán, he knew Billie's tells, and he could see she was considering it.

"Name your price, then," she said eventually.

Hernán _did_ name his price - an amount that made Billie sit up a little straighter. 

"Ah, thought that might get your interest," said the old man slyly. "I've made a small fortune since we last met."

"Stripped from anyone unfortunate enough to get caught up in your schemes, I bet," Billie shot back. She drummed her fingers on the table top. "Fine, I'll take the job - but I want half upfront."

Several minutes of verbal sparring later, they finally came to an agreement. They shook on it before Hernán left, slipping away through a back door. As soon as he was gone, Billie wiped her hand on her trousers. 

"You don't trust him," said The Boy. It wasn't a question.

"Would you?"

"Men like him are rarely interesting." The Boy thoughtfully clasped his hands. "They only know betrayal and coin. And they never change."

"That's about the measure of it. Well, at least he's consistent." 

The _Knife of Dunwall_ lay waiting for them at the end of the docks, the ropes creaking gently with each wave lapping at the hull. Billie let The Boy go on ahead of her, but something about the way he held himself made her shiver. With the sliver of moon shining on him, for a moment he looked just like he had the first time he'd appeared to her.  
The Boy turned back and gave her a quizzical look, and the illusion was broken. 

Something had changed since he had discovered Daud’s rune below deck. Something tiny, yes, but still.

Billie straightened her sleeve, fingertips brushing the knife she kept sheathed there, as she followed The Boy back to the ship.

* * *

Despite its name, Hernán's _Casa de Flores_ was a grubby building with flaking paint and a cloying smell of incense and damp. Neighbouring buildings crowded around it, casting the streets in semi-permanent shadow. Slivers of sunlight only ever reached _El Montón_ once a day, when it shone down from directly overhead. But right now it was late morning, and much of the district was still asleep.

"You don't need to come in,” said Billie as she and The Boy looked up at the _Casa's_ crumbling facade. 

"It's fine." The Boy muttered. Billie eyed him sideways - until yesterday he had been eager to explore the sun-drenched boulevards of Cullero's waterfront, where the wealthy spent their summers in villas among sprawling vineyards and groves of orange trees. Now he was like a second shadow. 

"Take my advice," she said after a moment's pause. "Don't go near Hernán's girls." 

That hadn't been The Boy's intention, but if it had he would have been disappointed to find the gaggle of wilting young women in their skimpy, threadbare costumes stirred nothing in him. The entrance hall - if it could be called that - was just as sad, with dusty floorboards and gilt leaf flaking from the plaster. Heavy drapes over the windows - even in daylight hours - gave the place a claustrophobic feel. In the weak light from the chandeliers, Hernán’s _flores_ looked like ghosts. 

“There y’are!” Hernán bellowed down the main stairwell by way of greeting. He beckoned for Billie to join him. “Let’s talk business. _What are you standing around for?_ ” he snapped, and the girls quailed at the sound of his voice. “Go tend to our guest! And bring us up some tea while you’re at it!”  
Billie shot The Boy one last warning look as she followed the man upstairs to his ‘office’. The door slammed, and there was an audible sigh of relief from the girls.

“Would you care for some tea?” A gentle voice from The Boy’s side made him turn - an underfed girl with large brown eyes stared up at him. “It’s mint.” She drew back a little when he turned towards her. The Boy didn’t spend a lot of time gazing into mirrors, but he had seen the hardness in his eyes, and the way everyone except Billie avoided looking directly at him.

“No,” he awkwardly pulled away. Everything about the room - the threadbare furniture, the unemptied ashtrays - made him want to run a mile. But what had he expected?

“Then… is there something else?” she tried again. “Only, Hernán said to take care of you while you’re here.” The Boy shook his head, and this time she didn’t bother to mask her confusion.

“You _do_ know what kind of place this is, don’t you?” An older girl with a shock of red hair stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She carried herself the way Billie did, her pointed chin jutting out. 

“I’m just waiting for my friend,” The redhead rolled her eyes and muttered something condescending under her breath, but the first girl peered up at him, confusion giving way to utter bewilderment.

“Who _are_ you?”

Ah, there it was. The one question he couldn’t answer.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said instead, glancing around for a divan that didn’t look too stained and sitting down. The older girl rolled her eyes again  - a habit of hers, obviously - but took a seat opposite him. Her friend sat cross-legged on a floor cushion, looking lost. 

“What kind of story?” She arranged her skirt - not that it did much to preserve her modesty - and folded her hands in her lap, as if she were a lady taking tea. Her fingers fluttered nervously, darting up to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. Something jingled at her wrist - a pendant of some kind, wrapped around her skinny arm with string.

“It’s a story… about the whales.” The Boy took a deep breath, and began to spin his tale. He spoke of ancient creatures, of hunters and blood and bone. The girls sat like statues, others hovering in the doorway or drifting closer as the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, a coldness creeping through the air. The room held its breath - The Boy could almost hear the whales’ song echo in his ears. It was frightening, but he had to continue, had to reach the end.  
When his tale finished, it was like a spell had broken. The _flores_ blinked as if waking from a deep sleep, rolling their stiff limbs. 

“Outsider’s eyes,” the oldest girl breathed, all that buried anger burned away. “Did you… make that up yourself?”

“In a sense,” said The Boy, his tone guarded. The look on her face reminded him uncomfortably of the child he had run into in Karnaca. He tried to get up, but the room tilted around him like he was back on Billie’s ship. He sank back onto the divan, rubbing his temples.

There were footsteps on the stairs as Hernán and Billie appeared, wreathed in a cloud of pungent cigar smoke. Just how much time had passed?

 _“Hey!”_ Hernán barked when he saw the girls all clustered around. He clapped his meaty hands together, and they shot to their feet guiltily. His Dunwall accent broadened as his temper flared. “Where’s my bloody tea, then? Go on, move it!” The girls scattered, and The Boy struggled upright and went to join Billie. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his pallid face and the way he swayed on his feet.

“Are you _drunk?”_ she demanded as soon as they were out the door. The Boy shook his head, though his head was already starting to clear. The air in _El Montón_ wasn’t exactly fresh, but it was better than the cloying perfume of the _Casa._ “Then what in the Void is wrong with you?”

“You just answered your own question, Billie Lurk.”

“You’re nothing but trouble, you know that?” Billie couldn’t help the edge of concern that crept into her voice. A movement at the window caught her good eye - Hernán stared at them through the grimy glass, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” she said, turning away. “Let’s get out of this trash heap.”


End file.
